


on patterns, walls, & how to break them

by ficfacfoe



Category: UnREAL (TV)
Genre: Bedsharing, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kingsgold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-21 06:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14278536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfacfoe/pseuds/ficfacfoe
Summary: Did someone say love triangle? Was it Quinn King herself? YEET(serena is obviously just a catalyst for kingsgold things this is a kingsgold story dont get me wrong)





	1. patterns

**Author's Note:**

> i guess this is basically a bunch of headcanons that somehow turned into a story? very close to the show in my humble onion. THANKS SYD LATTEFOAM BEST EDITOR IN THE WORLD thank you for going through the absolute agony of trying to read most of this in public places, for commenting the sweetest compliments and giving me the best ideas. this is as much your fic as it is mine! HERE WE GO!

_mess me up yeah but no one does it better_ _  
_ _there's nothing better_  
_that's just the way you make me feel_

Rachel practices essential honesty.

Practices, practices, practices. Hasn't quite got it down yet. The shoe doesn't fit. _Ignore the pain away. Ignore the worries_ , she tells herself when she sees Quinn stumble.

And then later, when Quinn is ecstatic.

Quinn is drunk.

Quinn slurs pride and ownership and something that sounds a lot like teetering on a cliff's edge down her walkie.

Her voice buzzes, "Goldberg, to my office!"

The woman all but pirouettes in approval at Rachel when she steps in, Rachel's thumbs pushing at the pockets of her worn down jeans. _Ignore how strange seeing her like this is._ Mania met with well practiced detachment. _Ignore_. Somehow, their roles have reversed, Quinn suddenly out of control and giddy with this latest blast of success, searching for something, for common ground maybe, for a partner in crazy. But Rachel has walls higher than ever, no tears near her big eyes. Essential honesty, self preservation. Celibacy. No bathing in this glory when there's no true glory in it.

So Rachel doesn't look at Quinn directly, knowing that if she did, she'd falter and grin sheepishly at her, she'd want to swim in this overflow of tipsy compliments. She keeps her expression blank, tries very hard to stay angry, distanced. Dismisses every word of praise she'd normally drink in like someone parched; she practices essential honesty, and if she's honest, this feels too much like drowning.

But then, drunk, drunk Quinn chimes, "I am your muse," followed by another little curtsy, and drunk Quinn with her drunken version of honesty has Rachel going off on a rant. The only thing to keep her from surrendering is attack, that's how hard those words hit her.

And she really is angry, angry at Quinn for being so close to falling apart, angry at how right she is. Timing has them colliding and bursting apart perpetually and if Rachel is honest, really essentially honest, that's why she's angry. She can feel Quinn slipping, is why she's angry. She is her muse but so much more, so much more they both refuse to acknowledge. And Rachel loves it, but can't be essentially honest about it, so she deflects.

"You're pumping toxic sludge into the minds of young women. You're telling them that they have to dummy themselves down to land some dude," she reasons, clinging desperately to the pretence of morality.

"Well, maybe it's the truth," Quinn slurs, and Rachel wants to scream but raises her eyebrows instead. "I mean, look at us," she hears, and tries to ignore the rushing of blood in her ears because yes, she's looking, but Quinn isn't seeing.

"So what, you're just giving up?" she manages to ask without shaking, and she wants to shake Quinn, wants to slap the drink out of her hand and sense into her person. She feels like she's losing her, and she can't bear it. Seeing Quinn like this has her going number than all the pills in the world.

"No," Quinn all but cheers, "I don't want what she wants, Rachel." And Rachel gets mean, then. Goes off about Quinn's ex boyfriends, men that had bothered her from the start, and this is her way of saying _of course you don't, you deserve so much better_ , but it comes out like gloating, like _you're afraid you're never gonna get it_ without the _but you can you will I'm right here_ , and Rachel almost starts crying when she sees the look of complete and utter defeat on Quinn's face.

But she can't do it. Rachel can't promise anything, can't offer her what she knows Quinn desires so deeply. She wishes and she hurts, but she can't. They're drifting apart again, and when Quinn storms out the door slams shut behind her. And the pattern continues.

 

 

The next time Rachel finds herself in Quinn's office after producing yet another burst of drama, it's her turn to be giddy. It's been a long night, and it's been a long time since Rachel allowed herself to be weak and selfish. It's been so long since she'd allowed herself to enjoy how good she is at this.

She knows it's a bad idea when she sees the half empty vodka bottle.

She knows they've both been too close to losing their minds lately. But she can't find it in herself to be angry at any of it, not at a Quinn who needs ratings to come up for air. She needs Rachel, and this isn’t news, but it gives her a whole new rush of something every time it becomes more apparent.

So Rachel storms in her boss's office, restless, and doesn't know what to say. Quinn smiles at her triumphantly and something shifts deep in Rachel's chest as she approaches her desk and she allows herself to feel it, smiles back, basks in the feeling.

"What do you want, Goldberg, a pat on the back?" Quinn grins and gets out of her chair, moves to do just that. Squeezes Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel can taste the alcohol on Quinn's breath from an arm's length away. She feels as dizzy as Quinn must be.

"Quinn, I'm so-" she starts, blinks. What? High on producing right now? Yes, but not just. Excited, sure. Something else entirely, she thinks, letting herself really look at Quinn. "I need to-" Rachel can't finish the thought, won't resort to begging, not yet, not fully. Says, "I want," like it's a full sentence. Her eyes rake over Quinn's sleeveless arms, muscles twitching with the tension between them, a stray strand of hair stuck to the side of her face, out of place, and Rachel wants to reach, but-

Quinn tips her head to one side, expression somewhere between confusion and amusement. "Rachel..."

They're close now, Quinn with her back unnaturally straight even for her standards, Rachel with big, gleaming, pleading eyes. Quinn grabs her other shoulder too, steadies herself with arms on either side of the other woman.

"Rachel, you've got crazy eyes, what is going on," she mumbles, crooked smile on her face, and if Rachel focuses closely on the green eyes staring back at her (and she does, she always does) she can see the haze, can see the room spinning in Quinn's gaze. Can see that Quinn finally _sees_ , that the question was a placeholder for a confession. That she could have her, right in this moment, could let herself go, let herself push the other woman on her desk and make her gasp -

She doesn't want it like this, Rachel realises.

She doesn't want to produce a drunk Quinn into indulging Rachel's every whim, into being her post-producing relief. Because this isn't a whim, this isn't anything Rachel could write off as being a manipulative bitch who gets whatever she wants. She can see in the worried crease between Quinn's eyebrows that this is too messy, even for them.

"You know what," Rachel whispers, then clears her throat, "forget it." With that, she turns and heads for the door, leaving a stunned Quinn stumbling backwards into her desk, arms still outstretched where Rachel's shoulders had been, now a gap that seemingly knocked all air from the woman's lungs. Quinn flinches like it burns. She shakes her head at the thoughts that had started bubbling up, huffs out an exasperated breath at herself, and pours another drink. "Forget what?" she mutters. "Weirdo." And chugs.

 

 

When Rachel's tired, heavy head finds Quinn's lap on Quinn's couch in Quinn's office, there is no more push and pull.

It is rare for them, but they have these moments. Silent, unquestioned, raw.

Like in London, when they'd shared a bed. And now this.

Rachel can feel the blood thumping in her ears, feels beaten down and devoid of anything but exhaustion. She can feel Quinn tense for the first two seconds of physical contact, then a hand comes to rest on her waist. Rachel lifts her own hand from where it's gripping at Quinn's knee, feels it caught mid air, Quinn's slender fingers wrapping around _money dick power_ in a way so tender she can barely believe this is the same woman who yells at people for a living.

Rachel turns so she can look up, sees Quinn through the bottom of a glass. How symbolic, she thinks. Quinn drinks, hand wrapped softly around Rachel's wrist, looking straight ahead. Rachel can feel her pulse racing where their hands lie on her chest, can feel her heart bumping against a heaving ribcage. They're not gonna talk about it, that's for sure.

When Quinn finally speaks it's unnaturally casual. "Why is it that we're never okay at the same time?"

It's as close to talking about anything real as they're gonna get tonight. It has Rachel giving her a teary-eyed smile.

"’Cause otherwise we'd be too strong."

Quinn chuckles. "We'd be unstoppable," she muses, her hand coming up to wipe at Rachel's cheek. Rachel can see the moment panic rises in Quinn as she realises what she's doing, but her hand still cradles the side of Rachel's face gently, something like inevitability lingering between them, and they're holding their collective breath.

Quinn's thumb brushes away big pearls of tears rolling from Rachel's eyes now, and the eye contact, the worry and confusion on Quinn's face at how they got to this point, it's all too much.

It has Rachel choking out a sob before she can be embarrassed, before she can twist all the way around to bury her face in Quinn's stomach and just cry. And Quinn's hand is in her hair, and then she's bending down to press kisses to her scalp, and Rachel can't stop unravelling. Her arms find their way around Quinn and she curls up, pushes herself impossibly closer and somehow her head is on Quinn's chest now, and then her face is pressed to the skin of Quinn's neck. Quinn is shaking too, with frustration maybe, or worry. But she holds Rachel, lets her cry until she's done.

When Rachel can breathe again, she untangles herself and sits back by Quinn's side.

"I'm sorry," she says without looking, but then looks, and finds an expression on Quinn's face she's only ever seen once before. (I love you. I _love_ you, you're fired.)

"Don't ever apologise to me for how you're feeling," Quinn rasps, and brushes messy hair behind Rachel's ear, lets her palm linger. This is too much, something screams inside Rachel. This is the kind of love that can hold and crush her fully, it screams.

She stares at the rawest version of Quinn, real tears and real affection staring back at her. "What if I'm feeling too much," she gasps, meaning so much more than she can put into words, but Quinn shakes her head.

"Never." And they fall back into each other, holding and being held, and they stay like that for a long time.

 

And then there's Serena. Rachel still won't admit, not even to herself, why she wanted, why she needed her on the show. Because what she's trying to show makes less and less sense each day. Serena is tall and blonde, always composed, wants a husband. Serena isn't anything like Quinn.

So Rachel has never paid much attention to the way their suitress looked at her. Until one early morning after they've wrapped.

She's in Serena's room, annoyed at how much the woman continuously resists Rachel's attempts at producing and they're both tired and loopy, discussing the same things in endless circles with no progress, until suddenly Serena's all up in her face, eyes begging for reassurance. Rachel can give that, and she mutters things like, "Hey, you're beautiful, any of them would be lucky to be with you," and Serena mutters, "Sometimes I begin to think that maybe I'm not looking in the right places," and before Rachel knows what's happening Serena's mouth is on hers, desperate and frantic. It blows Rachel's mind. Yes, she'd been flirting, she flirts with everyone she produces. But she never thought a woman like Serena would respond to her that way, so she kisses back, her mind jumping from one place to another, from _this isn't Adam_ to a much quieter, much more stinging _this really isn't Quinn_ , and then-

With a gasp, she pulls back. Her eyes flick up to one of the cameras and her skin prickles, the hairs on her neck standing up. She knows, she just knows that Quinn is right there, in the control room, staring. Behind those monitors, like a wild animal stalking for pray, waiting for something juicy to happen. Just like she was that night when Rachel had found herself in that hammock. Serena starts apologising when she sees the look of terror on Rachel's face, but Rachel waves her off. "Don’t, it's okay, it's fine," she says, already on her way out and down the stairs to the pool. Serena hesitates on the balcony.

A door flies open. Rachel stops. She can tell Quinn's nostrils are flaring from where she's standing. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Quinn all but yells, storming towards her.

There are tears in Rachel's eyes, and she doesn't know, doesn't know why she feels like she's been caught doing the inexcusable when this shouldn't be that big a deal, they've both crossed those lines, neither of them know boundaries when it comes to the show's cast. But this one tugs at something low in her stomach, constricting the back of her throat. "Quinn, it's not-"

They collide by the pool, or it feels like collision, even with an arm's length of thick air between them. It knocks Rachel's breath away.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks. "It didn't mean anything," she promises, vaguely aware of the blonde figure in the corner of her eye, watching them. She really doesn’t want to get into why _that’s_ the first thing she needs to get out of the way.

"Of course it didn't mean anything," Quinn scoffs, and the tendons in her throat are twitching and pulsing with the effort it takes not to let loose a scream, or a declaration.

"You know I'm not into her, she came on to me! Come on, Quinn, this isn't about Serena-"

"Then what the fuck is it about, Rachel?"

Rachel almost screams, and it tears through their carefully constructed pattern of omission like a blunt knife through flesh.

"You!"

She wants to sound sarcastic, adds a half-heartedly snappy, "It's all about you," but her stomach sinks and she's terrified because it feels like this might be the first time she's ever been honest. None of that essential honesty crap, but real honesty. Like a confession.

"Oh, you _love_ me," Quinn hisses, voice full of malice but eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Get your shit together, Goldberg," she spits, and then she's gone.

They have this terrible habit of walking away from each other, of confessing and then acting like they didn't just inch much closer to a point of no return.

They've told each other that they love each a few times, now. Somehow, it never felt as substantial as the words themselves suggest.

 


	2. walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quinn makes a truly scandalous proposition, confronting rachel with a whole new moral dilemma :~)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks syd lattefoam for working on this with me!!

 

_"Oh, you love me," Quinn hisses, voice full of malice but eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Get your shit together, Goldberg," she spits, and then she's gone._

_They have this terrible habit of walking away from each other, of confessing and then acting like they didn't just inch much closer to a point of no return._

_They've told each other that they love each a few times, now. Somehow, it never felt as substantial as the words themselves suggest._

 

 

For some reason, Serena is obsessed with the idea of testing Rachel now. She doesn't leave her alone, and it works; Rachel can produce her through their flirtations, it really isn't all that bad. Until Rachel has a particularly emotional day, Serena gets particularly flirty, and they end up sneaking heated kisses in camera-free corners. Rachel can't get the thought of taking things further out of her head and apparently neither can the other woman, so no one's surprised when she finds her in Rachel's trailer after they've wrapped. And Rachel reasons with herself: they're both hot, they've both got needs, this should be fine; but somehow sleeping with Serena feels too personal. She doesn't want to think about the implications of that, and is relieved when a banging on the trailer door interrupts them. Relief is quickly replaced with a sharp panic when the person outside reveals herself to be Quinn.

Serena doesn't even say anything, she knows this is a mess, so she flees as soon as the door rattles open. Quinn's eyes shoot daggers after her.

"What were you thinking, Rachel? What the hell?"

Rachel runs a hand through her hair, stares at something imaginary high above Quinn's head to avoid eye contact, head thrown half back.

She jumps when Quinn brushes past her, pulls Rachel inside with a tight, angry grip on her wrist.

The woman looks exasperated, but not just. Rachel's stomach twists in knots. There's something else in Quinn's expression, something like defeat. It turns impossibly soft for a fraction of a second, and then a small, patronising smile twists at Quinn's mouth. Rachel shuts the door without thinking. Behind her, the bed creaks.

"Rachel, what do you need?"

It's not a full question yet, more like a sigh. Rachel turns to look at the woman perched neatly on the edge of her bed.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, blinking and rolling her eyes to avoid eye contact.

"You really want this whole vagina thing for when you're feeling a little desperate?" Quinn asks in a tone not mocking enough for them, or the subject.

Rachel coughs out something like a laugh from behind clenched teeth, wants to object but can’t come up with anything. She really doesn’t know what she wants at this point.

"You can't do that with Serena," Quinn sighs again, emphasis on _Serena_ , and Rachel just blinks, thoughts rushing through her head frantically, images doubling over. There’s a ringing in her ears, blood thumping thickly through Rachel’s veins.

The expression taking over Quinn’s face looks almost dazed, somewhere between producing-high and teetering on a cliff’s edge. As Rachel thinks it she wants to laugh, but the way Quinn is looking at her is almost impossibly seductive. And nothing funny about it.

“So what, Quinn?” Rachel stammers, nervously tugging at the sleeves of her shirt. “If I’m gonna sleep with a woman, then that’s none of your business,” she adds, like _that’s_ what this is about, trying very hard to sound confident, but muttering under her breath like a grumpy child. Like any of this is even close to a conversation she’d ever imagined having with Quinn. But Quinn is just staring at her, and Rachel doesn’t have much willpower left, so she just whines, “You’re being ridiculous,” and bites the inside of her cheek at her own tone. She wants to be done with this. She wants her skin to stop burning and her thoughts to stop going to the craziest places. But Quinn isn’t done.

“You’re seriously trying to tell me that this is none of my business?” Quinn sneers, making air quotes around _none of my business_. The woman laughs, and Rachel’s knees go a bit more wobbly. “This is exactly my business,” Quinn continues, “because the things you sometimes get into that pretty little head of yours? Those could screw up my whole business. In fact, they have! Do I really need to remind you?”

Something in Quinn’s expression screams a pained _I’m done reminding you_ at Rachel, and her pulse is racing. She doesn’t know where this is going.

"If a woman really is what's gonna keep you from losing your mind,” Quinn starts, voice bittersweet and raspy like the product of hundreds of shared cigarettes, and Rachel’s head is spinning, “hey, I’m right here. I’ll do it."

There has never been less air in Rachel's trailer. There is no oxygen left to turn any part of this conversation into a joke.

"Quinn, what are you talking about," Rachel manages to scoff, but her heart is in her throat and she can tell that any further noise she could try to make would sound like someone's playing a drum solo on her ribcage.

Quinn seems impossibly composed.

"Oh, come on, I’ve seen the way you look at me," she all but purrs, and then she stands, takes two steps across the small expanse of Rachel's home and suddenly she's right there, right in front of her.

Rachel has never seen Quinn flirt up close and personal like this, she doesn't think, but she's pretty sure the way Quinn's eyes glitter in the dim light alone could reduce the strongest of men to mice waiting to be chased in this game where Quinn is all cat, all claws.

And Rachel's rapidly pounding mouse heart is about to explode.

Quinn goes on, head cocked slightly to the side, "Hey, we're two strong, single, career-driven women, don't act like you haven't thought about it."

If she didn't know better, Rachel would think she can see surprise at Quinn's own words on the woman's face, and if she didn't know better she'd say there was a confession in there. But Quinn's mask is securely in place again as her stream of allegations crescendos to, "Don't act like Serena is your first choice."

There is a pause after this, a breathlessness to the space between them that has Quinn fidgeting, rubbing her palms down the sides of her dress.

 

"This is crazy," Rachel mutters, averting her eyes, trying to laugh. Doesn't dare to deny any of it, though. "We can't just-"

"Why not?" Quinn demands, and for a second Rachel thinks she might have heard her voice waver.

Rachel can't breathe. She's pretty sure Quinn isn't breathing either, yet the woman can still somehow form words.

"Use me,” Quinns says, and something in the air between them cracks, tears right through Rachel’s chest. “If you need to get some lesbian phase or whatever this is out of your system, just use me," Quinn suggests, nonchalantly, like that's how any of this could actually work. Rachel wants to laugh, wants to scream, wants to-

Quinn's eye makeup is ever so slightly smudged at the corners, Rachel notices, that's how close they are.

How could this ever work? For a second, Rachel can see the future, can feel herself spiralling out of control completely, can feel her hands on Quinn’s waist, can see their bodies pressed together-

"This would be such a mess, you have no idea," Rachel tries, and still doesn't understand why they’re not pretending this is all a big joke. But then her eyes start swimming with tears and her throat is thrumming with more confessions, with things like _not like this_ , and _you deserve so much more_ , and she doesn't want to cry again, she doesn't want to be the mess. Maybe she wants to make the mess, let the mess take over, maybe this really isn't the worst idea.

Before she can overflow in any way, she lets herself stare into Quinn's eyes, at Quinn's lips; and they twitch like she might just be willing to make a complete idiot of herself too, and that's what it takes to close the small distance. They move at the same time, hands and faces in sync, grabbing and pulling and colliding squarely, like pages of a book sliding together.

New chapter.

Rachel doesn't dare to move, barely dares to breathe. They're pushed together by some invisible force, like a stage kiss, like a first ever kiss where neither knows what to do. And they don’t, this is too much.

Walls are tumbling and crashing down all around at the impossible softness of lips against lips. And Quinn huffs out a disgruntled noise against Rachel's mouth, grazes her teeth over her lip like a dare. Rachel pulls back. A tear slips from her eye and she wipes it away angrily, throat burning. She must look completely crazy, frown creasing her forehead, and Quinn looks something between confused and scared.

 

Slowly, Rachel slides her hands into Quinn's perfectly straightened hair, lets her thumbs stroke sharp cheekbones. Now, Quinn looks terrified. But doesn't move away. Rachel closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and kisses Quinn. Really kisses her.

The ache in her throat explodes into a low rumble from her chest. Quinn echoes the hum and Rachel knows they've never been closer to losing their minds completely, not even Rachel, not even when she tore down the set and stole that car; this is making her so much crazier. They're pushing and pulling at each other and Quinn has Rachel against a shelf and her hands are everywhere and Rachel freezes, can't keep up with what's happening.

"Quinn, wait," she gasps, and Quinn's eyes are black, pupils blown like this isn't a favour at all, like this has nothing to do with Serena. "What are we doing?" Rachel asks, too caught up in the way her head spins to come up with a way to be subtle.

Adamantly, and forcedly casual, Quinn lets her arms rest around Rachel's waist.

"Look, I love you, Rachel," she starts, choking on her words the tiniest bit and it has Rachel's skin burning up., "I'm trying to keep you from getting us into another lawsuit."

Quinn grins but she's a little breathless so Rachel doesn't hear any of the words, just lets her glance linger at how Quinn's lips move now that her lipstick is smudged where Rachel’s mouth had been just a second ago. "I don't really know about you at this point, Rachel, but I'm not gay, so I don't see how there's any danger in this, it's not like I’m gonna fall for you." Quinn laughs, and that one registers, has Rachel's skin burning in a different way.

"Why would you have sex with me if you're not at all gay, that's not-"

"Oh shut up, Rachel, that's just semantics," Quinn scoffs. "I'm willing to do this for you. Plus, who knows, maybe it’ll even be fun," she finishes with a smirk.

The way they're still standing makes it difficult for Rachel to form a coherent thought in response but something inside her has shut down. "You think things would still be the same?" she mumbles, and she can't look at Quinn but Quinn grabs her chin, makes her look.

"Yes, Rachel," she responds impatiently, and as she's leaning in to close the distance again her breath catches like she's caught herself in a lie.

But she doesn't stop. Quinn's eyes go soft and her grip on Rachel's chin turns into something like a caress, and she kisses her like flicking a switch. Like this is the decision, final. Every hair on Rachel's body stands, electrified. And Quinn's lip trembles.

With the strength of someone who can't be herself, Rachel stops. Draws back. Stares at Quinn's closed eyes.

"I could never use you like this, Quinn," she admits.

A deep breath. A forced smile. Quinn shrugs. Shakes her head like this is just Rachel being unreasonable. Leaves.

And somehow, miraculously, things are still the same.

 


	3. how to break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh you havent heard? bedsharing is the god tier trope. this is basically my take on how quinn helped rachel with her dad after he was hospitalised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks syd (lattefoam.tumblr.com), backbone of this fandom, for working on this with me! can't wait to write more kingsgold madness with you :~)

_With the strength of someone who can't be herself, Rachel stops. Draws back. Stares at Quinn's closed eyes._

_"I could never use you like this, Quinn," she whispers. A deep breath. A forced smile. Quinn shrugs. Shakes her head. Leaves._

_And somehow, miraculously, things are still the same._

  


When Rachel's dad gets discharged, considerably more stable, Quinn has decided that she can't have him around set all the time, can't have him staying in Rachel's trailer until he finds a place of his own. And frankly, she doesn't agree with Rachel living on set full time either, at this point.

 

There is a brief conversation, or rather an instruction, and then a decision: They're gonna stay in Quinn's guest room for now. Rachel wanted to argue and probably will go on living in her trailer most of the time, but Quinn has at least managed to convince her that a proper housing situation is best for her dad. And, if Quinn's honest, she never really goes home either after all, so it isn't much of an inconvenience.

 

Except now she's leaving work, in the middle of shooting an episode, to pick the two of them up from the clinic. Somehow she's nervous. Rachel has never been to Quinn's house, and right now Quinn feels very weird about that. But with everything she's got going on, Rachel is barely lucid as she gets in the car, barely lifts an eyebrow when they pull up in a large driveway.

 

Quinn unlocks the front door, fidgets with the keys and bites her own tongue at how ridiculous all of this is.

 

"You can drop your bags in there," she speaks into the room, pointing at an open door to their right. She walks straight into the kitchen and pours herself a drink, hearing the front door shut by Rachel, the rustling of bags and bedsheets.

 

"Thanks, Quinn," Rachel's quiet voice quips from the kitchen door. She's leaning against the doorframe, folding into herself. Quinn's chest aches at the sight.

 

"He's gonna be fine," she tells Rachel. "And it’s not like I need all the extra space."

 

Rachel lets a heavy-lidded gaze travel around the parts of Quinn's place she can see from where she's standing, doesn't make the effort to walk around. A relieved sigh escapes Quinn and she takes a sip from her glass. "Want some?" she asks, and Rachel all but drags her body towards the kitchen island, nodding, shoulders slumped.

 

They sit in silence, drinking. Quinn can't help the concerned looks she gives Rachel like she's afraid the woman might just collapse, or run away. She hears faint snoring from the guest room.

 

There is no telling how long and how much they drink, but when Rachel can't keep her eyes open anymore and gets up, moving in the direction of the source of now rhythmic snoring, Quinn's head is buzzing just enough for her to grab hold of Rachel's wrist and mumble, "Let the man sleep," pulling Rachel to her own bedroom. From the corner of her eyes she sees Rachel's sleepy gaze lift in surprise, eyes open wider than they have been the whole rest of the night, for a second. She chooses to ignore the shiver it sends down her spine. She's drunk. She's leading Rachel to her bed by her wrist. And Rachel isn't complaining.

 

It's not like they've never shared a bed before. Quinn knows this, Rachel knows this, other people probably know this.

 

Rachel stares at the back of Quinn's head. Then they're in her bedroom and Rachel is staring at Quinn's bed, and she's had a lot to drink and a lot to worry about, she's exhausted, but not exhausted enough to ignore the way her skin prickles where Quinn had grabbed hold of her arm.

 

She sits on the edge of the bed, watches Quinn stumble gracefully around the room, getting ready.

 

And maybe she's staring, because the next thing Quinn utters is, "Don't get any ideas, Goldberg," and it has Rachel blushing all the way up to the tips of her ears, which is embarrassing but not entirely uncomfortable. Alcohol and exhaustion mix well with this nervous energy, somehow muting and heightening it simultaneously. It leaves the room somewhere between boiling hot and goosebump-inducing.

 

"You're the one with all the ideas," Rachel replies after a heartbeat or two hundred — a proper perception of time doesn't quite fit into this equation anymore.

 

She's not sure what she's saying, all Rachel knows is that Quinn is the one with the ideas, has always been the one holding all the cards.

 

So it's easy to get into bed with her, to follow her lead. Rachel buries her nose in the smell of Quinn, buries herself in soft cotton, right next to the other woman. Her head is pounding. The closeness and the absurdity of this whole situation, her dad asleep in the guest room, Quinn being the one helping with everything, it's too overwhelming and Rachel starts spiralling. She doesn't realise she's crying until Quinn shifts and turns to look at her, worry creasing her forehead.

 

"I don't know what I'm doing," Rachel starts, "with him." Now she's sobbing. "I don't know what I've been doing still living in that stupid trailer, and I have no idea what I'm doing with this," she gasps, takes a breath, whispers, "with you-"

 

She can hear Quinn grinding her teeth.

 

"Rachel," her voice mild in its assertiveness, "don't cry."

 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she stutters, and she's just so tired, and Quinn is so close but never close enough.

 

Quinn sighs. "Shit, don't apologise. Come here," she says, grabbing Rachel's shoulder. All noise dies in Rachel's throat instantly. She feels flooded with warmth, and like a tidal wave, she crashes against Quinn's torso. Rachel lets herself be held, Quinn stroking her back.

 

"You're still my girl," Quinn mutters, lips somewhere on Rachel's hairline. It has Rachel's whole legs going numb except for a tingling sensation running from her knees up the backs of her thighs.

 

"What does that even mean?" she whispers, twists her head until her nose and forehead touch Quinn's sternum, and Rachel feels like she's trying to crack open a brick wall with the weight of her head alone.

 

Quinn's voice sounds a little like she's choking on her own words when she answers. "It means I've got you, and you know I'm not known for being very good at letting anything go."

 

Rachel fists her hands into the front of Quinn's silk pyjama top.

 

"Please," she says, "don't. Ever."

 

Quinn's head moves, lips press against Rachel's temple. "Okay," she states, just like that.

 

And just like that, Rachel pulls herself closer to Quinn's face, twists and turns her head, nose to chin, breath to neck, cheek to cheek. She pleads, "I need you," and Quinn says, "I know."

It tears at Rachel's heartstrings. All this longing, all this aching to find love, and then this. A million more feelings exploding in her chest at the feeling of cheek touching cheek, breath hitting ear, words breaking free. "I need," Rachel begins again, "I want…" Her hand finds its way into Quinn's hair again and it feels like last time, like the first time all over. "I want this," Rachel confesses, the words spilling from her like a string of lights, "I want you, like this."

 

They're hovering millimetres from the point of no return, faces touching everywhere except there. Like a crazy dance, lips brushing cheeks and jaw and chin, like revolving around each other, twisting and turning in a space in between realities. And then Quinn just brushes the word "Okay," across the corner of Rachel's mouth, and they collide. Press into each other with a hum carried through mingling breaths, spreading all around until the whole room seems to be vibrating.

 

But Rachel has an echoing replay stuck on her mind, hears _okay_ and _okay_ only, again and again. She pulls away, cradling Quinn's face in her hands.

 

"No," she says, "Quinn." And Quinn is staring at her, pupils blown, hair mussed. Rachel needs this to be right. "Please," she says, voice steady. "Please say it."

 

Quinn kisses her again, instead, kisses her dirty, all tongue and teeth. Rachel turns her face away, lets Quinn's lips attack her neck. "Say it," she repeats.

 

"I want you too," is breathed against her neck, and Rachel feels it going straight through her skin, into her carotid artery, speeding up her pulse like no drug ever could.

 

"Say it," Rachel repeats again, half delirious, letting her eyes roll back as Quinn continues kissing up her neck.

 

"I want you," she hears close to her ear, and Rachel can tell from the quiver in Quinn's voice that the woman understands this is not enough, knows what she should be saying.

 

Rachel is scared, too. Terrified. Her voice breaks on her last, "Say it."

 

Quinn's mouth is on her ear. "I want," she starts. Rachel shivers. And then, like a curse, Quinn chokes out, "I love you."

 

The room stops spinning, for one second. Then, it topples over. Not even astronaut training could prepare anyone for feeling this weightless, Rachel thinks. She runs her hands down Quinn's sides, grabs her, pulls her closer. "Like this?" she asks, kissing Quinn squarely on the mouth, squeezing the woman's ass.

 

Quinn inhales and pulls back, shaking her head. Rachel's stomach drops. Then, Quinn is holding Rachel's face in both hands so softly, she thinks they'll both break from it. No one has ever touched her like this. Nothing has ever been this tender.

 

"Like this," Quinn says, quiet and raspy, and she holds eye contact until fresh tears spill down Rachel's nose and temple. Until Quinn is sure it's understood. "Like this," she repeats, pressing their faces together forehead to forehead, noses bumping. "Like this," Quinn says against Rachel's lips, and kisses her sweetly. Slowly.

 

"Like this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much to everyone who's been commenting nice things!


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